


Berserker | Vlad III -- Kneel Before the King (Only if You Want To)

by HolyGrailWarGM (RavenkinLegacy)



Series: Dreams of a Grand Order [4]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear Play, Kink Negotiation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenkinLegacy/pseuds/HolyGrailWarGM
Summary: Vlad III is so much more than a monster.  But really, the whole package is part of the appeal.





	Berserker | Vlad III -- Kneel Before the King (Only if You Want To)

The dark stone hallway stretches out forever before me.  Behind me, I know it's the same.  _ There is nowhere to go but forward _ , says the dream.  So I go.

The castle walls are tightly packed stone, not so regular as to be uncanny, but solid, secure.  Comfortable. Burning torches in ornate black iron sconces cast flickering shadows across the smooth marble floor.  My shoes make a gentle  _ tap, tap, tap _ as I drift down the hall.

For the most part, the castle is quiet.  The silence is occasionally undercut by howling wind and the rumble of distant thunder, but it all seems muffled, far away.  I walk on.

I should be terrified.  The last time I was in a dream castle like this, the sins of my Servants tried to murder me.  But instead of fear, I feel a deep sense of belonging here. The Chateau d’If was a foreign place of hell, and I was an unwelcome intruder there.  This castle, on the other hand, seems made for me.

Dozens of branching paths are laid out before me, but I let the will of the castle and the strangeness of the dream pull me along.  Despite the chill in the air, the light from the torches wraps me in a warm embrace.  _ Let go, _ the castle breathes,  _ and follow. _

***

I don’t know what I expected.

No, that’s a lie.  I knew what I expected.  I expected to be scolded, or at least to be on the receiving end of a disappointed glower.

I’ve looked at my Servants with lust before, and I’ve made jokes in terrible taste before.  The Servants are all accustomed to that. But those things don’t usually get combined, and certainly not in a way that implies sexual arousal in relation to Vlad’s fortress of impalement.

Jeanne Alter and Cu Chulainn both barked out laughter when the joke came out of my mouth.  It was probably more out of surprise than anything. Mash and Da Vinci just put their heads in their hands, although Mash was decidedly more red in the face.  These were all usual reactions.

But when Cursed Arm shook his head in amused disbelief and advised me to be more careful with my timing, a creeping sensation of dread seeped into my gut.  I followed his skull-mask gaze to the door of the common room, where the Impaler himself stood with an armful of fabric. Heat tinged my ears. That was definitely  _ not _ what I expected, but I had no defense, so I just offered him a cheeky grin and hoped he would take it as a joke.  Like I definitely, totally, absolutely meant it to be.

One white eyebrow arched imperiously, but his face was unreadable otherwise.  He stood for a moment, just watching me. Then he continued on his quest, sweeping into the common room where we all sat and settling down in his wingback armchair to practice his embroidery.

***

The torches lining the walls seem to be lighting my way in a certain direction.  I follow them.

They lead me to a pair of heavy wooden doors, which open to reveal a grand hall.  The far wall is covered in windows; through them, I can see the storm raging outside the castle.  Rain beats against the glass, but it makes hardly a murmur in the dreamscape. Throughout the hall, black iron candelabrum float in midair, from the smooth marble floor all the way up to the vaulted ceiling.  A rich red carpet has been rolled from the door where I entered to the long banquet table that dominates the center of the room. The floating candles seem to frame the path to the table, so I follow them.

A single place is set, just to the right of the head of the table, a silver plate cover hiding the contents of the plate.  Curious, I reach out. My hand is trembling ever so slightly, I notice dimly. I lift the plate cover with caution, unsure of what I will see beneath.

Nothing horrific, thankfully.  Only a folded piece of paper. Still wary of trickery, I slowly unfold it.

The words are written in dripping rust red, the scent of copper rising from the page.

_ RUN, MY RETAINER,  _ the note suggests coldly,  _ AND YOU MAY BE SPARED. _

My blood freezes in my veins.

***

The conversation fell flat after Vlad’s arrival, and people slowly trickled out of the common room.  The hour was getting late anyway, and they all must have wanted to prepare for training the next day.  Either that, or they were eager to leave me alone with the consequences of my mistake. Soon, it was just the two of us.

Vlad hadn’t said anything since he arrived.  I very much didn’t expect him to, so I was surprised when he broke the silence.

“Master,” he called, loud enough to be heard but gentle enough not to startle me, “You mentioned at one point that you wanted to try embroidery.  Shall I show you?”

“Oh!”  I did remember mentioning that.  “Yeah, that would be nice. Now?”

“Only if you want to.  We have time.”

I closed the book that I was reading and moved to join him in the other chair.  He showed me how to thread the needle, how to hold the fabric hoop, how to count stitches and work the needle through.  Once I was comfortable with that, he let my hands go and let me do it on my own.

It must have been his sense for petty revenge that prompted him to wait until I was holding something sharp to drop the question on me:

“By the way, Master:  Did you mean it?”

The needle slipped, straight through the fabric and into my finger.

“Ow!”

I dropped the hoop into my lap, jerked my hand away from the white fabric and the blood-stained needle sticking through it.  Blood welled from the tip of my finger. I heaved a sigh and held the digit up and away from the fabric.

Across from me, Vlad put down his own needlework.  He slid out of his chair to take a knee in front of mine, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket.  Then he reached toward my hand, palm up, asking. I gave it without hesitation.

He examined the site of the poke, then nodded calmly.  “The wound looks worse than it is. Fingertips bleed dramatically.”

I nodded back, embarrassed, while he dabbed off the blood and wrapped up my hand.  But when he finished, he did not let go as I had expected. Instead, he held the cloth there, pinned my hand in his, and squeezed just hard enough to make me look at him.

“Will you answer my question?”

Heat rose into my face again.  I opened my mouth, closed it, a few times.  I hoped against hope that he would just let it drop.  I’m sure if I waited long enough, he would have. But part of me wanted to answer.

It was the part that was making sitting there very uncomfortable, but an important part nonetheless.

Finally I averted my gaze from his and wet my dry lips with my tongue.  “Yeah,” I replied, “I did. I mean, I-- I will answer your question, and my answer is that I did mean it.”

He held my wrapped hand for a moment longer, then calmly folded my other hand over the cloth, set my abandoned fabric hoop aside, and retreated to his own seat.

“I know it was a tasteless joke,” I went on, babbling then but unable to stop, “and I’m a little bit sorry about that, but I really am attracted to you and I… I might want to do something about that.  But only if you want to.”

He hummed, a sound of acknowledgement and nothing more.  “Your advance is not unwelcome,” he replied. “I just wanted to check in about what you would expect from… an encounter.”

I was surprised by the swiftness of his answer.   _ Has he been thinking about this? _  The thought sent a thrill through my stomach.

As encouraging as his quick answer was, I found it equally embarrassing.  It was easier to talk to a potential lover who was open about what they wanted and about hearing what I would want, but my answer to “What do you want” was still mortifying in this case.

My gaze slid away from his and fixed on his intricate jacket.  Carefully, I admitted, “I know you’re not fond of it, but I kind of like the idea of the fearsome Vlad the Vampire taking me to bed.”

He looked so crestfallen at my words that I immediately regretted not framing it better.

“No,” I protested against his downturned eyes, “It’s not…”

I slid out of my chair and onto the floor in front of him, as he had done for me a few moments before.  I think I hoped it would bring us onto the same level. I don’t know why I expected it to have that effect.  When he did it, he was still almost at eye level with me sitting in the chair. But that’s because standing side-by-side, he will always tower over me.  When I did it… I was significantly below his eye level, kneeling at his feet like a subject to a king.

My heart hammered between my ribs.

He looked as surprised as I felt.  His pale eyes caught mine, brows raised, mouth slightly agape.  I swallowed hard and frantically scrabbled for the words I wanted to say.

“Vlad…  _ This _ is why I want that.  I don’t think of you as a monster.  You know I don’t -- I hope you know I don’t, anyway.  I…” I shook my head. “This is stupid, and hard to explain, but…”

His interruption was as gentle as his hand on my hair.  “My retainer,” he chided, his  _ King of Wallachia _ voice seeping into his words, “you are many things, but stupid is not one of them.  I believe in your faith in me, but I want to understand what you mean.”  I leaned into his touch for a moment, letting my eyes drift closed as I grounded myself.  When I sat up straight again, he let me go, rested his hand back on his knee, and repeated, “Now, tell me what you mean by  _ this _ .”

I took a deep breath and pressed onward, trying to hold his gaze despite the heat flushed through my face.  “I know who you are. You like bad jokes, and nice clothes, and you have hobbies like embroidery, which involves stabbing something ten thousand times, and I don’t think that’s even the reason that you like it.”

That got a chuckle from him, which inspired me to go on.  “But you’re also… You’re my king.”

His pale eyes widened at that.  I don’t think I’d ever been the one to say it before, although he made a point of mentioning it regularly.  I think it would have affected him strongly in any situation. But being said from one knee in front of him, feeling a boldness inspired by his openness, made the declaration all the more potent.

My heart threatened to jump out of my chest entirely.  I’m sure if it had, I would have placed it into his hands.

I dipped my head, unable to look into those eyes any longer, and instead focused on the hand that rested on his knee.  “You may be my Servant, and I may be your Master, but I’m also your retainer, and you’re my king. You have… power. You have strength that I could never have.  And… that scares me. That’s really dangerous. But I like that. I like the feeling that I could be in danger. But it’s because I know you won’t put me in actual danger.  It’s because I feel safe with you, Vlad. I trust you.”

“Bold words,” he replied, a smile in his voice, “to a fearsome vampire.”

“True words,” I countered, “to the man who patched up my bleeding hand without even licking it.”

His laughter broke the tension, surrounded me and filled me with warmth.  “I take your point, retainer.”

***

A crack of thunder echoes through the walls.  I jump, losing my grip on the plate cover. It clatters to the floor with a  _ clang _ .  A gust of wind kicks up from nowhere, ripping the blood-stained note from my hands and snuffing the flames of the candles.  The enormous hall is plunged into darkness.

The rumbling of the thunder gives way to a low chuckle, too close for comfort in the sudden dark of the hall.  I whirl toward the sound, fight and flight warring in the beating of my pulse. I have no power here, I know, but I can’t give up yet.

Another crack of thunder is accompanied by a flash of lightning that illuminates the room.

The flash glints off his silver earrings… and his bared white fangs.

My heart pounds louder than the thunder.

Darkness fills the room once more.  The click of boot-heels on stone reaches my ears.  I try to keep up as the boots circle me, but the echo of the banquet hall obscures their wearer’s true location.  Finally, the  _ click click click _ falls silent…

A breath in my ear:

“Run.”

I run.

***

“I will admit that you have me intrigued, but I still have one concern.”

“Only one?” I laughed, back in my own chair once more.

Vlad flashed a fleeting smile that melted into a gentle frown.  “It would shame me greatly to touch you in any way that you do not wholeheartedly desire.  If I frighten you as you have suggested, you may begin to fight me by instinct. I would hope your instincts would be so sharp, in any case.  How will I know the difference between true resistance and that which is just part of the game?”

I shrugged.  “I’ll tap out if you do something I don’t want.”

That furrow of a frown remained.  “That’s good to know, but it’s not the same as agreeing to it.”

I hummed in thought.  Then, “Here’s what I can tell you: I don’t like saying  _ no, stop _  when I mean  _ yes, keep going _ .  Even if I fight you as part of the game, can you trust that I'll tell you to stop when I really mean it?”

He tilted his head in thought, then nodded again.

“As for what I want..." I paused, thought about it.  A number of scenarios had crossed my mind before; it was hard to pick just one.  Finally, I said slowly, "I know that I want to feel scared, and I know that I want to feel overwhelmed and powerless.  Beyond that, I’m not really sure what I’ll want in the moment. You could… check in as we go?”

The raised eyebrow again.  “And you trust me to listen, even in the heat of the moment?”

I nodded.  “You may be a Berserker, but you’ve kept control of your faculties.  I trust you.”

His smile sent a curl of warmth through my chest.  “You honor me to say so. That will suffice.”

***

I feel none of that warmth now, only the chilly wind of the castle and my pursuer nipping at my heels.

I can sense Vlad’s presence close behind, but the warped dreamscape prevents me from pinpointing him exactly.  So I run.  I follow the candles.  It might be unwise, but so is stepping into the darkness with a vampire in close pursuit.  As I pass each sconce, they snuff out behind me.

_ The only way to go is forward. _

So I run.

The hallways twist around me.  I can hear nothing but the occasional crash of thunder, my own ragged breathing, and the  _ taptaptaptaptap _ of my shoes on the floor.  And the wind, the howling wind, that I am certain is drawing him ever closer.

The path lit by the candles turns sharply to the right, and the end of the line comes into sight:  another heavy door.  I barrel toward it as fast as my legs can carry me.  It swings open as I approach.  I stumble through the doorway and fall to my hands and knees.

Where I expect to hit cold marble, there is instead plush red carpet.  The entire room is done in rich tones of red, gold, and black, from the carpet to the curtains… to the king-sized bed in the center of the space.

_ Oh. _

I scramble to my feet and whirl around to close the door--

\--and Vlad is right behind me.

He looks amazing.  A royal blue tunic, simple black trousers, still wearing his usual knee high boots.  His hands are bare, and that’s as far as I can get in my observation before he lunges at me.

I surge backward, but he's too fast.  His hand wraps around my throat.  His momentum drives me back toward the bed.  My rear hits the edge of it and I grab at his shirt. I manage to keep my feet on the floor, but that stability comes at a cost:  Vlad bends me backward until my shoulders hit the sheets. His free hand comes down in a fist near my head. His white hair falls around my face as he…

…gently touches his forehead to mine.

For a moment, we just stay there and breathe.  When he speaks, his voice is low and warm. “Your heart is pounding and your skin is hot, even in this dream.  Is this what you had in mind, my Master?”

A shaky noise escapes me, somewhere between a moan and a laugh.  “Yeah, that was… exhilarating. That was great.”

“Do you truly enjoy being frightened?”  There is no judgement in the question, only curiosity.  Checking in.

“Yeah,” I breathe, “I enjoy it quite a lot.”

He hums, an amused and questioning tone.

I touch the hand on my neck.  He lets go immediately, but I catch it in mine.  “See for yourself.” Abandoning all sense of modesty, I guide Vlad’s hand down the front of my body, and press it gently to my groin.

Vlad drops his head to my neck and curls his fingers against me.  I arch into his touch, eyes falling shut with the pleasure of it, and he makes a muffled noise against my skin.  “Shall we continue, my Master?”

I hear the question through my haze of arousal and manage to pull my mind together enough to answer, “Only if you want to.”

He responds by taking my hand in his and turning it toward him.  It is met with hardness like steel in his own groin. I gasp without meaning to.  I can feel his smile against my neck. “As it happens,” he says, in the most casual tone he can muster, “I also enjoyed our little chase.  Quite against my expectations, really.”

The revelation that he wants this as much as I do sends a flood of heat through my stomach, leaving me shuddering in its wake.  “God, Vlad…” I breathe, “I want…”

His hand is back up at my neck, forcing my head back.  The prick of his beard and the wetness of his mouth are sudden against my throat, just beneath my chin.  My legs refuse to hold me up any longer, the heat of his open-mouthed kiss melting them beneath me.

I arch into him again as he demands between kisses, “What do you want, my retainer?”

_ Ah, so that’s where we are. _  I can work with this.  If I’m speaking as his retainer, I can make ridiculous requests with the freedom that his Master wouldn’t have.  And right now, the only thing on my mind is the memory of overwhelming heat I felt when I went to my knees in front of his chair.

“I want…”  I gasp as he kisses my throat again, thought abandoning me once more.  With a deep chuckle, he withdraws to the distance of a breath to let me finish.  “I want… to kneel.”  I take a deep, shuddering breath.  “I want to kneel before my king.  If he would allow it.”

He takes a sharp breath and presses sharper teeth to my skin.  I try to hold still, but another shiver racks my body. My mind screams:

_ Fight!  Run! Fight, or run, or die! _

It's a heady realization, that I would choose death over leaving.

Vlad waits until the shiver has passed, then hisses against my throat:  “You believe yourself worthy of touching me, retainer?  Of putting your mouth on me?”

My brain has to work overtime, but I finally remember that my body exists beyond the point of contact with my king’s fangs.  There is steel hardness beneath my hand, and I squeeze it ever so gently. The pressure draws another hiss, and he presses his fangs down harder in retaliation until I whimper and beg, “Please… My king, please… Please deem me worthy…”

Then his mouth has left my neck and he has one hand in my hair and the other on my shoulder and he is dragging me off the bed.  I land on my knees on the plush carpeted floor, at eye level with the iron bulge. The reality of this fantasy sinks in, and I stare up at him wide-eyed and breathless.

He stands tall above me.  His pale eyes gaze imperiously down at me, his subject, as I kneel at his feet, at his mercy.  His hand in my hair is an anchor, a chain, and a comfort.

My heart threatens again to jump out of my throat.

His gaze softens immediately.  His other hand moves from my shoulder to my face, stroking reassurance across my cheek.  His eyes hold the question: “Are we still okay?” I nod slowly.   Vlad offers me a warm smile, and murmurs, “Tap my leg if you wish to stop.”  I take a shaky breath and nod again.  This is good for now.  My role seems even easier to sink into with the assurance of an out.

Assured of my conviction, his smile morphs into a fang-flashing sneer.  He tightens his hold on my hair, pulling me closer.  “Here you are, retainer, kneeling before your king.  Show me you are worthy of this position.”  His hand leaves my face for a moment to release himself from his trousers. I keep my gaze fixed on his eyes, until he uses the grip on my hair to guide my mouth to him.

Despite his imperious persona, he isn't rough with me in this.  He coaxes my mouth open with his hand and presses gently past my lips.  He lets me hold just the head in my mouth for a moment, just a taste to allow me to get comfortable.  I close my eyes and lick him inexpertly.  A noise escapes him, and he rocks further in.  Heat pools in my stomach. He holds me steady when I shudder, but he makes no effort to hide his own shuddering, how this affects him as well.

This is how it goes:  one hand is tangled in my hair and the other is cupped under my chin.  I lick and suck when I can, but mostly I am happy to follow his motions.  My hands find his trousers and grip tightly to ground myself while he slowly rocks in and out.

I feel light, floating.  Chaldea, the Holy Grail Wars, everything else dissolves away.  My responsibilities are gone.  This is my world, right here in this dream.

All that matters in the entire universe are my knees on the floor and my king’s cock in my mouth.

I feel him tense.  I tense as well on instinct, in preparation for him to spill.  But he just holds me there as he twitches dryly, then he is guiding my mouth away, taking me by the shoulders, lifting me to my feet.

The intensity in his gaze nearly buckles my knees all over again.  His pale irises are almost overtaken by the black of his wide-blown pupils.  His teeth are clenched, not in anger, but with barely maintained control.

He is beautiful, my king.

And there go my knees.

Vlad catches me, arms around my waist, before I can truly fall.  I curl into him, let my forehead and hands rest on his chest while I breathe deeply.  He folds me in his arms and just holds me.  His chest is warm beneath my hands. Alive, in defiance of his nature.

When I pull back, I can’t help but reach shaky hands up to touch his face, his hair, his beard.  He allows all of this with a faint but warm smile.  When my hands come to rest on his shoulders, he murmurs again, “Shall we continue, my Master?”

I open my mouth and close it again.  I can feel him against my hip, iron-hard but holding still.  Waiting.  My whole body still feels flushed with heat. I don’t want to stop.  He is beautiful and I want him to touch me and to hold me and… I can’t find words.  But I can find boldness.

I lean up and kiss him.

It takes going up on my toes and pulling him down by the shoulders, but I manage.  Vlad’s mouth fits against my lips as perfectly as it fit against my throat.  It’s my turn to coax his mouth open to me, and he goes willingly, eagerly.  Stars dance behind my eyelids as his tongue caresses mine.  The hint of his fangs against my lips sets my soul on fire.  My pulse roars like a storm in my ears.  I’m drowning, melting, and burning all at once.

When we finally break apart, his breath comes as heavily as mine.  I muster my strength and repeat in barely a whisper, “Only if you want to.”

Vlad’s lips spread into a fierce grin.  His hands are moving then, one slipping back up into my hair and the other sliding down to curl beneath my rear.  He drives me back once more, crowds me and pulls me until I’m bent backwards over the bed again.  This time, I cannot keep my footing, and I let my legs come up and around his waist.  I can feel him hard and heavy on my groin, and I arch into him automatically.  A firm tug on my hair draws my head back.  I gasp again in pleasure at his mouth on my neck.

“Ah, my Master,” he moans against my skin, “I would say that we are just getting started.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is legit my first time publishing smut! tbh it’s probably the first smut that I’ve actually completed in close to 15 years. idk man, I’m gray-ace and what even is sex. So I guess just like… tell me if it worked?
> 
> (Also I probably got the tenses wrong a million times in this one because of those flashbacks. So maybe also let me know if I missed anything there.)
> 
> Besides my smut-publishing anxiety, this one was fun to write. I banged it out ( _hardy har_ ) in two days because it would not get out of my head. I wanted to combine my favorite parts of Vlad’s personality: the terrifying Lord Impaler, and the reasonably polite king who does embroidery and sees his Master as more or less an equal.
> 
> Or maybe I just have a lot of weird kinks, lmao
> 
> I’m accepting requests for Servants / scenarios, although I make no promises about timing between the request and the writing, especially with NaNo coming up!
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love you all! <3


End file.
